Wicked Game
by Kris B
Summary: "Curiosity Killed The Cat" is a common phrase paired with Chyler Hale. Though in this case "Curiosity" happens to be none other than humanity's golden boy Matthew Shepard, who has a little more rust than shine. They fight together to defeat an ancient enemy, if they don't end up killing each other beforehand. The Mass Effect trilogy with my own personal twist.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

He was coming back. You could hear the crashes from him throwing the furniture downstairs. He was angry, extremely angry. Shouts carried up to the little golden haired boy who's hiding in the bedrooms crammed closet. It was just big enough to accommodate his size, and no bigger.

"Look at me!" he yelled from downstairs, the snaps of the belt an echo to his words. The woman's cries became louder with each bite. "Useless! Trash!"

The boy stuffed his fingers in his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut. He brought his knees up to his chin and ducked his head down, trying to make himself as small as possible.

Time passed. The sounds stop, everything became quiet. Then heavy boots came stomping up the creaky old stairs with a new purpose.

 _He's looking for me_ , the boy said to himself.

Slowly, thunderous footsteps grew nearer and nearer to his hiding spot. He closed his mouth with a snap, holding his breath and not even daring to blink. He tried to be brave. He really tried. But the burning in his chest intensified with each step the man took closer. The scars melted into his skin were hot because he knew he was about to get more. He didn't want any more.

The boy remembered what his mother used to tell him. Being scared will just make you more vulnerable. Count to four, then let the fear go. Let everything go.

One.

He could see his boots through the crack in the door, the black ones with the silver buckles; The ones he liked to step on his fingers with. The snake-like belt dangled from one of his clenched fists, his knuckles white with red rage.

Two.

The smell of smoke and death radiated off him, suffocating everything living in the room. He spat a few times on the dirty tan carpet. His leering, blood-red eyes sent a chill down the boy's spine, eyes that said, "I know exactly what scares you, and it's me."

Three.

The black and gold snake tattoo turned its slim neck to grin at the boy with those awful yellow slits. The boots came to a stop just outside the bedrooms closet.

Four.

He leaned down and grinned wickedly, yellow rotted teeth clashing against his pale spotted skin. "There you are," he purred, reaching a hand forward through the crack. "C'mere, you little shit." He gripped the boy tightly by his hair and yanked him forward.

* * *

He woke with a start, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded like a jackhammer in his chest. _Christ. They're back._ He sat up in bed and put his head in his hands. Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm himself from the childhood hell-mare he just relived. The smell of cheap cigarettes and bourbon swirled like smoke in his head, clouding out everything else, making it impossible to think about anything other than the dream.

He blindly made his way over to the bathroom, switched on the faucet, and splashed a handful of water onto his overheated face. The cool spray was welcoming and soothing as it dripped down his strained jaw, his nose, down his neck. His eyes moved to his dog tags around his neck that clinked together, then to the scars on his chest. Small yet seeming impossibly large, faded yet striking as ever. Forever a reminder of his colorful fucked up past. He frowned. Did they look more grotesque than usual?

Then it came to him fast and sharp, flashing painfully into his mind like a dozen photographs being shot at once. Her thug boyfriend leaned over him, holding him down flat on his back as he burned right through his shirt and into his skin. The pain, it was everywhere, it was everything. It was too much to handle. He tried to fight against his hold but it just made him press the burning cigarette down harder against his flesh. He could hear his mother yelling from somewhere behind him and all the man did was grin and laugh that raspy cackle that sent a cold shiver down his spine. Then, as abruptly as it had come, it ended. Leaving him once again alone and in a cold sweat. He ran both hands through his hair, cursing to himself under his breath.

"Shit," he whispered.

 _Pull yourself together, Matt. This isn't the time to break down like a child. You've got a job to do, don't fuck it up._

 _A job,_ he snickered. _What the hell is Anderson thinking having me here? Hoping to have me collared by the Citadel Council for "humanity's best interest", no different than a dog._

He shook his head, pushed away from the sink. Pulling the thick, military issue garment on over his head he strode out his door and up to the cockpit. Though it was still well into the night cycle, the thought of staying in his overly heated room with nothing but his own demons to keep him company was unbearable to even consider. Instead he settled for watching space fly by him, absorbed in his own thoughts. Wondering what awaited them tomorrow. Undoubtedly preparing himself for the worst, as usual.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"I'm going to ask you again, what is your name?" I stared straight ahead, refusing to meet the eyes of the two men standing in front of me. One seemed unrushed, unfazed by my aloofness as I grew tired of this little interrogation. The other leaned against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, bearing a scowl that told me he was not at all impressed with my attitude towards the situation. "Who do you work for?" The man with the warm brown eyes and skin to match asked. At some point he must have been considered handsome, sharp edges hardened his features in a way that screamed masculinity. But the lines and creases on his face told a different story. He looked worn, his eyes sagged in the corners with the tiredness of someone who hadn't slept in decades. His shoulders slightly slumped as if he'd been holding the weight of the universe on his back. The gentleness in his eyes told me that he was long past his trigger-happy days, but the way he held himself betrayed the calm softness on his outer shell that would fool most people. He could kill me in the blink of an eye if need be and we both knew it. When he spoke, he didn't bite the words out, didn't even say them as if they were an order but more as a request. I'm sure if it was up to his brooding friend he would've used more caddish methods in getting me to talk.

How did I get myself into this situation? Only yesterday was I held up in The Citadel's most scandalous night club, Chora's Den, putting my feet up on a stool while lowly local boys fell over each other buying me drinks. Most of them not even sure how to use their own pixie sticks, if you get my meaning. The sweet yet poisonous fumes of drink, smoke and sweat swirled in the air as heads and hips swayed to the beat of the booming bases. Looks of whispered promises thrown across the room to each other even though you knew you wouldn't remember their name the next morning. The kind of environment that put me at ease, made me feel as close to home as I could get.

Things went to hell after saving that quarian from Fists assassins. I'd been prepared to deal with that, scumballs like Fist were born without balls and always used merc's to clean up their piss. A couple of arrogant ditzes with pea shooters wasn't a problem I couldn't handle. What I hadn't been prepared for were the three well-armed figures that seemed to peel out of the shadows themselves. Demons disguised as soft, adorable teddy bears in hard armor and grenade launchers strapped to their backs. If it wasn't for the menacing scowls they wore that promised death with lots and lots of blood, I would've considered bringing them home to place side by side on my shelf. You'd think the assassins had never seen a ghost before, because the moment the uninvited guests made their dramatic entrance they'd started letting bullets fly like the air itself was attacking them. The asshats had caught me in the side and calf. Which hurt like a bitch, let me tell you. The impact had me sprawled on my belly with the air knocked out of my lungs like someone had just run over me with a skycar. By the time the battle had ended and the roaring of firearms seized, which didn't take long, smoke screened the surrounding air and my mouth was sour and dry from the taste of copper and salt. Blood.

Steps sounded in my left ear before a talon gripped my shoulder to roll me onto my back. On impulse, not missing a single beat, I swung my leg out from underneath me. The hand retreated as they hit the ground next to me with a hard, thunderous _thud_ and I was off sprinting before anyone else had time to pull their heads out of their asses.

My vision swayed and darkened with each step I took, my breathing was sharp and raspy. It was almost embarrassing; two little bullets and I was ready to curl up in a ball and take a nice long nap. Pathetic. Across the hall the exit was close, oh so close. I pumped my legs harder. A few more paces. If I could just-

Something big flew into my back, knocking all the air out of my lungs with a yelp, and I went down hard. I gasped, pinned to the ground by something so heavy I could barely breathe. Strong gloved hands rolled me over so I was on my back. I brought my fingers up to his face, trying to claw his eyes out with my nails like the idiot I was. _Good thinking, Chyler. That'll really throw him off._ He grabbed both of my wrists and locked them down on either side of my head, shifting so he was straddling my chest. I growled and tried to squirm out from under him. This just made his hold on me tighter and more forceful, like holding down a slippery fish who was attempting to make a getaway to the safety of the water. His weight pressed against my burning side. I cried out, my sight going spotted with black smudges like a watercolor painting.

 _Stupid sonofabitch_. _I'll flay you alive and dance the rumba naked over your grave after painting my apartment walls with your blood and using your skull as my bedside table light fixture, you overweight Yahg._

When my vision focused again, I was looking up into very blue very angry eyes, eyebrows furrowed low and lips pressed in a thin line. He wore black heavy armor with a white and red N7 insignia, a blood red stripe going from one shoulder along his arm to his covered hand. Armor too nice for any mercenary. He was attractive, very attractive. All chiseled with equivalent features. Unruly dirty blonde hair and extremely intense, bright ocean blue eyes with impossibly long eyelashes that most women would have killed for, after spending all their fortunes on implants that ate away their eyelids instead. It was distracting. For a few moments I stopped struggling completely just to gape up at him. He was young, but the way his eyes burned told me he had seen a lot of this galaxy. Tales hidden in them that, from the blue fire flashing in his irises, I know I didn't want to know. It should've been a crime for a marine to look like that. His features alone gave him the upper hand which I found a little unfair. You'd have to seriously think if you actually wanted to kill him or jump his bones. The phrase "looks meant to kill" was most definitely referring to this psychotic bastard.

The wheels started to turn in my brain again, creaking from the blissful trip that they just passed through. Almost groaning in protest for the rude awakening from whatever trance took hold. I snapped my mouth shut, aware that I'd been staring at him open-mouthed like a hollow head for a good thirty seconds. I bucked, squirmed and twisted, anything I could think of to try to get his weight off of me.

"Stop," he said in a firm, demanding voice. I took note that it was an order, not a request. An order that I was not about to fall over myself to obey. Not today, not ever. Hell would sprout roses first. We glared daggers at each other, blue eyes clashing with brown. There was movement behind his shoulder. Two figures made their way cautiously and carefully like walking barefoot on broken glass over towards us, a dark haired man with a flabbergasted expression and a very pissed off looking turian, mandibles flaring in the way turians do when the sticks up their asses were kicked up even farther. Both had their weapons drawn and raised to attention. The man above me once again put pressure down onto my injured side, lacing fire through my veins. If I could've breathed I would've flung curses at him that would have even the turian blushing crimson. The pain had been so fierce, so consuming that it had agony tickling up my side, down from my clenched teeth to my curled toes. Everything started to turn shadowy, like someone had put a black lens over my eyes. Like I was living in my own personal nightmare where my life was modeled after those terrible silent films that nobody in their right mind missed. I was losing consciousness, and unsettling quickly at that.

"She's just a kid." The turian's voice seemed to be coming from far away, though I knew that wasn't the case since if I stretched my head back I could bite his clawed foot with my teeth, something I would've attempted if I wasn't so damn tired.

I slapped a hand against the chest above me, despite the fact that it was covered with hard, bullet repelling armor and hurt my palm more than it hurt him. Through the stinging after effect that made my fingers tingle and shake, the annoying voice in the back of my head was chanting, 'Yeah! Shove against that chest! Show 'em who's boss!' I didn't even last long enough to tell the voice to shove off before the cruel beast that was unconsciousness swallowed me whole, bones and all.

I woke a few hours later, ankles and wrists cuffed to a plush hospital cot and wearing a pearl white papery gown that did nothing for my curves and showed more than I would've preferred. From the constant irate humming beneath my feet, it didn't take long to realize I was aboard a starship. An expensive one, by the size of their sterile white medbay. The doc in charge probably spent more time keeping dust from forming on the gleaming metal tabletops than actually tending to battered up marines. Everything was crisp and so clean I was afraid I'd be spaced if I left even a single smudge. I'd be spaced for less anyways, probably. The air smelled of freshness, like a new luxurious skycar you sold your house for to be able to afford just to shove it in your friends faces that you were bigger. It made me wrinkle my nose up in disgust. So, not just Alliance marines, but important ones. I was about as lucky as a quarian without a suit in a room full of sick patients. I would have been able to make a grand escape made to be put in the history books if it wasn't for the two sets of eyes watching me like a hawk the moment I became conscious. They didn't trust me to sit quietly until orders were barked in my face like I was a mutt, how insulting.

"What was your purpose being on The Citadel?" Good Cop tried again. The screeching of metal sliding harshly against metal demanded that my head explode like a watermelon as he pulled a chair up to the side of my cot and folded himself down into it slowly and with practiced ease. A gesture to show that this wasn't a hostile conversation. _Cheap shot. I've been in numerous interrogations and your tactics_ _don't impress me, Scout Leader._

I gave them my best cynical smug smile like I ate puppies for fun. "I'll take my recognition for saving the quarian verbally and at any time," using the same tone as someone saying, "Thank you for the candy bar, mister. Chocolate and caramel is my absolute favorite." I wasn't about to let some Alliance dickheads try to scare me into submission. I never did like bullies who pushed the weaker around, and the Alliance was one of the biggest bullies on the playground. I was the little brat that liked to kick sand in their eyes for fun.

I expected hostility, rage, maybe even a little bit of threatening. "If you don't tell us what you know we'll kill so and so with a weapon that sounds like a pro wrestlers ring name," that sort of thing. In fact, I'd kind of been hoping for it. But the response I got scared me so greatly that my blood turned to pure ice and my heart skipped a full beat. He smiled. Not in a mocking or cruel way, not arrogant, but a genuine smile. Reaching up to those deceivingly gentle eyes that made you want to spill your entire tearful life story. There was no disguised edge behind it. The man with the burning blue eyes resembling that of a gas flame sighed behind him, running a hand over his face and into his hair. A substitute tactic, I realized. He very much wanted to wrap those hands around my neck but settled for disheveling his hair instead.

"Anderson, this is getting us nowhere. We're wasting time; have C-Sec look into the matter."

"I'll also take my apology at any time for being barbarously manhandled," I snapped gratingly at him and regretted it almost immediately. He fixed me with a hard stare, his cobalt eyes flashed dangerously at me, like lightning on a clear summer day. I'd recognize that challenging gaze anywhere. The Chief glare, the one that shrieked vigor and authority. I'd received it before, where they screamed at you with their eyes to shut your overly large trap or get a taste of their boot in your mouth. Most were bearable, causing your pulse to spike slightly for a few moments and your stomach to roll like the after effects of the first dive on a roller coaster. His was the kind that made serial killers cower in corners with their tails between their legs and helplessly howl for their mothers. Freezing you into his own personal ice sculpture. The flames licked at something sinister. Hunger that reminded you of a lion stalking his prey, making them writhe before going in for the kill, promising it will be a long and harrowing process. It completely terrified me, so I laughed in his face.

"I don't cooperate with anyone who ties me down. You treat me like an animal and that's exactly what you'll get in return. Flashing your headlights at me won't change anything." Except I might need a change of undergarments.

"You talk big for someone with so little to offer." Ouch. I suppose I deserved that; poke the lion and he's likely to snap your stick as well as your arm. And eat your face off, apparently. I could try batting my eyelashes and wiggling my tush at him, but I think we're past that stage. He bared his teeth at me in a silent snarl like he was contemplating eating my head clean off my shoulders. Definitely past that stage.

"Don't worry, Gingerbread. I'll track down whoever stole your lollipop as soon as we're done here."

A rumbling chuckle came from the man named Anderson. He was looking at me strangely, like I was some newly discovered species he was eager to acquaintance. At least someone found me amusing, Boy Scout looked like he wanted to stuff me and hang me over his bed as a decoration.

"It looks like you've found your match, Shepard," Anderson said, his tone light and laced with amusement.

Holy jumping tits on a flying purple elcor. Please tell me Anderson was a very rare looking asari and my translator just had a minor glitch. Please tell me the universe didn't hate me so much to place me in the presence of the last person in the galaxy that I wanted to meet. And please tell me I didn't just goad him to the point where I'd be waking up stranded on some frozen ice planet stripped down to my skivvies with the word "ditz" tattooed on my forehead. I'd formed a consensus: no good came from being pinned down by an extremely handsome man. From now on, I'd have to avoid them like the Black Plague. If my arms weren't cuffed down to my sides I would have slapped myself on the forehead.

Shepard was the last person I wanted to cross paths with. His reputation was blood-curdling enough to have a vorcha turning the opposite direct when he approached. He was what people liked to call "Pretty Poster Boy." He was humanity's trophy wife, except for being petite with large breasts he was a monster N7 soldier trained to kill with the flick of his wrist. I'd rather swim through hell and back than share the battlefield with him. Yet me, suffering from a contagious disease known as word vomit, had to open my big mouth and provoked him to no end. I'd challenged him, something he wasn't going to toss aside even if I bowed down to him and kissed his feet. I was such an idiot.

"How about this," I forced my tone to stay even despite the fact that my insides were exploding like a volcano, "you pretend you didn't see me; I'll pretend I didn't see you. A mutual concurrence and then we can both be out of each other's hair."

Anderson enlaced his bulky fingers together under his flat chin, settling his elbows snugly against his knees and fixed me with a persistent gaze. Intelligence danced behind those eyes. From the way his orbs never left my face, you'd think he was trying to think his way into my brain. We stared at each other. Add some whistling and a rolling tumbleweed and we'd be all set. "I think we could use her," he said without glancing away.

The blood drained from my face. _You're really on a roll today, aren't you, Chyler._

"You can't be serious." Shepard stared at Anderson like he'd just sprouted a third head. "You honestly trust her enough to not slit our throats in our sleep?"

I snorted. "I wouldn't need to wait until you were sleeping." The Chief glare again. I really needed to stop talking.

"Saren's got one hell of a bite," Anderson told him. "If we're going to have any chance against him, we'll need the largest guns and sharpest teeth we can find." For the first time since our beautifully choreographed, civil interrogation began, Anderson broke the link between our eyes. He cranked his thick neck to fix that gaze on Shepard. "Trust me on this."

A silent tête-à-tête passed between them, though I'm not sure how that's possible since both of their expressions gave about the same amount of emotion as a stone wall. Typical Alliance marines. _Look at us, we like to have scolding competitions for fun. Winner gets a fist to the face._

Shepard's eyes subsided slightly, something I didn't think was even possible. "Alright," he said in an evenly toned voice that betrayed the tightness of his jaw.

Anderson dug for something in the snug pants of his Alliance blues. A chorus of gangling echoed in my heart as he pulled the cuff keys loose from the depths of his pocket. My eyes latched onto them like it was a hunk of meat and I was a starved savage. Anderson unlocked the restraints binding my ankles first, then my wrists. I had to fight the instinctive urge to latch my teeth into his arm.

"Now then," he gave me that benevolent smile that continued to vex me with its tenderness. You'd think I was some frightened child by the way he looked at me. I was neither. Anyone who thought different could say it to the barrel of my pistol. "We could very well use your help, if you're willing to give it."

Strange that they were giving me a choice. Alliance usually took whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it, no exceptions, no excuses needed. Act first, talk later. I'd never met one that was willing to negotiate. Not that I was looking a gift horse in the mouth; I was grateful to still be breathing. And moderately cut up that I didn't get to smash anyone in the face with one of the polished stainless steel chairs.

I was a coward. I'd come to terms with that little known fact a long time ago. I was given minute, meaningless assignments, ones that didn't affect the galaxy in any way but still put a good amount of credits in the palm of my hand at the end of the day. That was the way I liked it, where I was discreet and known only as "that dark haired woman with the big mouth and ego to match." I wasn't actually considering accepting their proposal. There was no way I could seriously be that dense. I might as well hand them my funeral arrangements. " _Yes, I would like white roses placed on my gravestone, please. Make a note to carve 'Here Lies Chyler Hale, significant moron since 2183 and holding strong' on the headstone above a drawing of a dancing monkey."_

Yet the inner voice bouncing around in the back of my hollow head purred at the idea. It liked the thought of being immersed in the smack middle of all the action, craved on the top-shelf information that came as a packaged deal with the job. It liked the idea of being able to sway the menacing tango with Shepard. I should have been telling them no, to stick it where the sun shines. The words fizzed in my mouth to the point where I could almost taste them. They were creamy, pleasantly deep and full of life. Yet the words that actually came out sounded nothing like what I was thinking.

"Okay," I said. "I'll do it."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Why do they call you Joker?" I asked the Normandy's pilot next to me, who was content to let his chair consume him with his cap low over his eyes and pretend that I was nothing more than an irksome insect buzzing stupidly in his ear. I'd taken to tease him from an empty terminal nearby, mostly because I knew he couldn't bolt even if he wanted to. It was cruel, I know, but I was bored. Sitting down in the mess growling at every wide-eyed green marine that came waddling by had only entertained me for so long.

"It's easier than having to write down Alliance Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau on everything," he said curtly. It was almost a redundancy, telling me to run along and find someone else to play with. Like staring out the helm's prodigious windows at the glinting cyan lights of the Citadel was the most important thing he could be doing and I was tactlessly intervening. _Well, this conversation was off to a great start. I'm thinking gold for our best friends bracelets._

I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on my hands and smirked at him like he was my new favored guinea pig . "Why is it you Alliance types are always hostile towards outsiders? Does it make you feel macho?" In my best impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger, "'Look at me, I've got the communication skills of a carrot. Run away as I scowl at you.'" I added a heart-chilling, menacing glower for extra effect.

"It's a wonder you don't have your own fan club yet," Joker said. He was trying to cover it, but I knew he was grinning under the brim of his hat. Revitalizing to know that some of the Alliance knew how to smile and their faces didn't disintegrate because of it. This might prove to be a little diverting after all.

"I'm working on it." I stretched my legs out in front of me and crossed my ankles, folding my arms behind my head as a cushion. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to add you to the list."

That got a snort out of him. "Can't wait."

We were still docked on the Citadel and life aboard a luxurious starship that cost more than I'd made my entire life was seeming disappointingly gray. I'd already asked Navigator "Chuckles" Pressly which way the pool was and got an abysmal expression as a response. To my great disappointment, I guess starships didn't have everything. Even ones as ritzy-glitzy as the Normandy SR-1.

After pointing a finger under my nose saying, "You break it, you buy it," Commander Shepard in all his glamorous glory had marched to his meeting with the Citadel Council, his twitchy quarian stumbling on after him. He had this absurd reverie that after presenting the Council with his latest findings, they would drop everything, get down on their squamous hands and knees and cling to him for aid against loony-looners Saren Arterius, who also happened to be their favorite toy in the sandbox. It was a waste of time and everybody other than Shepard knew it. No matter how smart you were, you couldn't convince a stupid person that they were stupid. That would make life way too elementary.

Shit had fit the fan, and now the Council was left scraping cow plop off the galaxy with a pencil. Our Merry Band of Misfits was the pointed tip and the council was going to abrade away with us until we were dull, flat and plodding. Then they'd move on to the next sorry sap who I'd have to remember saying silent prayers for every now and then. Being the Council's next lap-dog, they were going to need it.

"I think you've gotta live up to that name." I peeked at the pilot from the corner of my eye and smiled wickedly. "Go on, tell me a joke."

"What?"

"It's only fair. Though I'll warn you, I can be a very strict audience."

He sat stiff straight in his chair and wore an expression like he'd just swallowed the galaxy's sourest lemon. "I'm the best pilot in the Alliance Fleet, not an idiot stationed here to put on little comedy shows for nuisances."

"I'll make sure to put that on a plaque for you if I find your joke amusing," I told him. "Now go on, we haven't got all day, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau." I added as much importance as I could muster to his title to please him. He didn't look satisfied.

"Fine." He pivoted in his seat to face me, tipping his chin up to see under the rim of his ancient discolored cap that looked older than the First Contact. "Ever heard of the girl that passed out on her own drool over Commander Shepard? It's one of my favorites."

Joker, one. Chyler, zero.

I could feel my cheeks burn slightly and resisted the urge to press my cool fingers against them. Instead, I settled for camouflaging it lounging back in my chair and shrugging him off while picking at an imaginary torn cuticle. Yep, he definitely lived up to his name. I think it was only too appropriate to drop the subject now. "Ha-ha." I rolled my eyes at him.

Seeming rather pleased with himself, he turned back to the terminal in front of him with a cheeky grin plastered on his smug, half-covered face. That's the last time I challenge someone with the nickname Joker. _Yeah, yeah. Keep smiling, wise-ass. Just remember to sleep with one eye open from now on. Who knows what you'll wake up to, then we'll see who's grinning._

The door to the bridge behind us unlatched with a smooth swoosh. A current of air teased the back of my neck as Shepard marched in like he owned the place, which was, strictly speaking, true. Tali, the twitchy quarian, legged it in the opposite direction like a pack of wild mutts were chomping at her heels. Weird species, quarians. Their suits made it impractical for them to communicate through facial expressions so they thought over exaggerating their movements and body language was an acceptable substitute. When in doubt, watch their feet. If they weren't tap dancing for you that was grim sign. Find the nearest escape route asap.

Shepard came to a stop behind the pilot's chair. Immediately Joker seemed to brace, sitting forward in his seat as if there were shards of glass lodged into the cushioning of his chair. I wouldn't be surprised if he twirled around to say, " _Look at me fly the ship, Commander! Look at me go!"_ I bit back a laugh.

"So, how does it feel to be not only the Alliance's Poster Boy but the Council's as well, Spectre?" I expected him to tell me to do them all a tremendous favor and stuff my head into one of the Normandy's toilets. But I got nothing. Nada. Zip. Not even a flick of the eye. It pushed my buttons more than a sardonic retort would've.

"Joker, set a course for the Artemis Tau Cluster," Shepard said in his very professional 'I'm an Alliance Superior, fear me' tone. I watched closely to see if Joker would flake out.

"Aye, aye, Commander."

Shepard turned to exit the cockpit. I followed after him, staggering over my own two left feet to keep up with his purposeful pace. "Anderson isn't here anymore," I said. I wonder if the Alliance had 'Stater of the Obvious' as a title.

"And?"

"And I want to know if that means I should expect to be thrown out of the nearest airlock at any time."

He turned around to face me, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me from the top of my head to my toes. Without thinking, I felt my spine straighten, my chin raising slightly, my shoulders rolling back. I tried make myself as lofty as possible, which next to him wasn't a sizable achievement. The man would tower over me even if I was in eleven inch heels.

"Just because Captain Anderson isn't here anymore doesn't mean I'll disrespect him by disregarding his previous orders," Shepard said firmly. "He saw you as a valuable asset, and I trust his word." He started down the bridge again. "Besides, if worse comes to worse, we can throw you in front of Saren and you can talk him to death."

An Alliance CO with a sense of humor; how ever did I get so lucky? I should chase after assassins in dark alleyways more often. They'll call me, " _Chyler Hale, Hit-man Tickler."_

I stuck my tongue out at his retreating back.

* * *

"And people complain that Tuchanka is a wasteland," the krogan, Wrex, grumbled as we gradually made our way closer to Dr. T'Soni's dig site. He turned to glare up at the sun as if it would cower away in fear of being head butted.

Therum was undeniably more habitable in the past than it was in the present, before we mined and looted the ever living shit out of it. There was no animal life, no foliage, nothing to block the tortuous rays that bared down on us like a crazed cat clawing nonstop at a rather unpleasant sunburn. In fact, it was a safe bet to assume that this planet had never been introduced to the color green before. The surface was dotted with ancient Prothean ruins, so it wasn't all that astonishing that an asari archaeologist would reside here. Not a popular vacation site, that was for sure.

The prickly part wasn't finding her but more so of reaching her. Geth had been plunging from colossal drop ships ever since we landed on the planet's surface, scurrying around like giant metal spiders too big to stomp with your boot. I'd have to remember to write Saren a lovely thank you card for the target practice, I was starting to get a bit rusty. The path ahead was obstructed by jumbo impenetrable boulders leaving only a narrow passage that the Mako would never be able to squeeze through and come out of in one piece, which meant we were on foot for the remainder of the way. I wouldn't have minded being able to stretch out my legs from the rough ride here if it wasn't for the blistering heat.

Me being a part of the ground team was a well orchestrated test, and I was aware of it. For my combat as well as my loyalty expertise. As far as Shepard was concerned, I was as much of an enemy as the geth. Hard to center on the mission when the barrels and fists would turn on you if you put even a toe out of line. I was tempted to ask him if he was enjoying the view since he was closely surveying my every breath. Was it too late to turn back?

"I think I prefer the lovely bombardment craters and radiation of Tuchanka over this," I said as I wiped my slick forehead with the back of my gloved hand.

"You forgot to mention our salt flats and alkaline seas." The krogans face shifted into a nightmarish grin that had me cringing away in terror. Strong species, but definitely not in the top five for galaxy's most attractive. Still, anything beat the vorcha.

"The underground bunker shouldn't be much farther. Let's get the doctor and go home," Shepard said ahead of us, his shoulders tight and his body tense like a coiled spring. "I want off this planet."

"I didn't realize I was traveling with a bunch of delicate flowers. Afraid you'll wither from a little heat?" the turian said. "Forget your sunblock?"

"Just trying to catch up with you on the shriveling scale, Garrus," I teased him, cranking my neck just in time to see his mandibles flare impatiently. I couldn't help myself, he was just too much fun to prod.

He huffed. "Not all of us want to be a squishy, soft human. Some of us actually have a backbone."

"I think you're mistaking that for the pole up your ass."

Wrex let out a big rumbling laugh from behind us that shook the terrain beneath my dirt stained combat boots. "You know, I'm starting to enjoy humans."

"Enough," Shepard's voice rang out. His body was bent low like a feline ready to pounce, his battered battle-scarred assault rifle raised to attention. Taking careful paces forward like a predator proficiently stalking his next prey. The rest of us were quick to follow suit, but not necessarily as graceful; all rushed hands and slippery digits.

It was quiet. Like the air itself had stopped to hold it's breath in anticipation. The tension was so thick you could cut through it with a knife and serve it as a five course meal. My shoulders felt unbearably hulky as if a rock giant was pressing his stone palms stubbornly and relentlessly down onto them in hopes of burying me alive.

Shepard peeked silently over the cliff barrier, then immediately drew back as pebbled splinters clouded the surrounding air in dust and mist from the shot that barely missed. He cursed. "Four troopers on the ground, three rockets on the top of the hill, and a sniper in the tower," he told us. "Vakarian, I want you on that sniper. Get him before he can take out our shields. Wrex, watch our backs as we push through but keep your head down. I don't want them boxing us in. Hale, you take point with me." _Where I can keep an eye on you,_ he failed to add.

"See you at the party, Princesses." Wrex let out a deviously grumbling laugh as he reloaded his massive, monstrous shotgun the size of a human toddler, seeming all too pleased to get shot at.

 _Oh good, I'm guessing he won't mind me using his mammoth body as cover then._

We shuffled to our allocated positions as stealthily as possible. The surrounding air seemed to take a large gulp before the once whistling terrain erupted like a spontaneous volcano in exploding rounds and missiles crashing against hard rock. We pushed forward, my paired M-358 Talons melted into the palms of my leather covered hands. Fingers slightly trembling on the smooth metal.

My life had been absent adrenaline for so long that I couldn't help the worry that gnawed on my foot like a galling rodent I couldn't shake. Already, I could feel the wicked power coursing viciously through my veins. Starting from the pit of my stomach, working its way into my sleeping limbs and lacing everything like wildfire. The shift of its trickling stream to roaring violent currents uprooted me, spiking my heart and my breath stuck in my throat. My blood burned inside my veins in the familiar way that had me forcing back from vomiting all over my boots. I would rather die than puke my guts out in front of Matthew Shepard. ' _Oh, don't mind me, Commander. I'll just be over here, fighting the battle of the ages with my weak stomach as you take on hostiles armed with missile launchers. I'm a total bad-ass, right?'_

Then the humming began, like I knew it would. The lilting tones made my eyes water from its sweetness. It demanded blood, reveled in the thought of it. Promised complete satisfaction and drunken tranquility. I pinched my eyes shut as if that would pinch the feeling straight away. It petrified me, the pull to the dark side, the power, the promises. I held tight to its leash with both hands.

"Don't pass out on me now, Hale," I heard Shepard's voice say through the dulcet notes swarming inside my skull like smoke.

"I'm fine," I snapped back.

I willed myself to focus past the pull and on the blasts of firearms, the metallic taste of powder and gun oil that left a bitter edge inside the rim of my mouth. On the heat that teased hotly against my dry cheeks and digits every few seconds. The growls of Wrex gleefully tallying his annihilation's. "Three! Four! Come on, you synthetic pyjaks. Come to uncle Wrex!" Followed by a flamboyant war cry that would have even a rabid Yahg plunge over in submission. Berserk bastard. Tough though, I'd stand behind him in front of anyone.

The surface buckled in a small quake that had the ground vanishing from beneath my feet and reappearing under my ass. Suffocating grime coated my hair in a thin wispy gray and pebbles were crammed in places they should never be crammed in, making me walk with a funny limp. _Nice. Very graceful._

Rock ash screened the area ahead. Beyond the wall of dust, a single blinding blue orb appeared, seeming to be held up by the air itself. It glowered menacingly above our heads, swaying ever so slightly as if rocking to an invisible tune that only it could hear. The ground trembled, the orb grew larger. Another earthquake forward that had my teeth rattling and my skull vibrating like a bobble-head. Peeling through the smoke screen, a long, sleek metallic limb glided forward, followed shortly by the body of a colossal machine I'd never seen before. The large, monstrous globe that was its head glared down on us like we were interminable ants it could stomp into oblivion with its leviathan feet. If geth could speak, it would say something along the lines of, " _We have giant guns, also. Put your little pie-shooters aside and let the big kids show you how it's done."_

"What the Spirits is that?" Garrus murmured from somewhere behind us.

A loud, nails-on-chalkboard shriek was its friendly response. It took another thundering step forward until it was towering a few feet from us. "Wild guess, but I don't think it likes you very much, Vakarian." Flaring mandibles.

With a brisk motion, and the sound of snapping hundreds of thickset branches in half, the colossal cracked it's four meaty, titanic shanks together. The sizable orb smoldered so profoundly that I had to shield my eyes with the back of my covered hand, as if staring into a glazing sun at extreme close-range with nothing but flimsy, half-assed sunglasses to protect you. It squealed for a second time before the sphere rocketed forward, its goal to make our heads burst like watermelons.

"Look out!"

The world detonated in slow motion, and the afterlife was purely scintillating white. The ringing in my ears was irritating, like an insect was permanently trapped inside my hollow head but refusing to concede to its poor, pathetic fate. My skull pulsing furiously in a heated competition with my heartbeat. And just as quickly as it disintegrated, the world flashed with color once again. I was sprawled spread-eagle on my back, head drowning from unsteadiness and sitting unevenly on my shoulders from the led that someone just forced down my ears. Nothing seemed broken, every limb attacked and eager to kick the sparks out of whatever the hell just made the entire universe pause with its impressive performance. The only damage I could detect was that my shields had been completely sucker-punched. _Fuck, that's one nasty synthetic whoreson._

"You alive, fleshy earthling?" Wrex shouted over the non-submissive ringing. I suppose there were worse things he could call me. I could probably even deem that as a compliment, coming from a Krogan, who ate baby Thresher Maws for breakfast. Along with a glass of acid.

"Just peachy," I forced out as dragged myself behind a sizable storage crate nearby.

A crack whipped the air as Garrus leaned out of cover long enough to line up his battered sniper rifle and let a bullet soar free. An agitated screech came from the colossal monster on impact, but other than that there was no change, no falter to its appearance. I kept my head ducked between my knees as another energy pulse came hurtling towards us.

Wrex growled deep from his chest as he threw blue biotic orbs like they were rock pebbles at the titan. The Talons pulsed and heated my palms as I fired shot after shot, but I might as well have been hitting the metal beast with a water gun. I could sit here forever with unlimited ammo, humming inspirational tunes, twiddling my thumbs and it wouldn't make a difference. This geth was hell-bent on making reaching that asari doctor impossible. Then it hit me, like a fifty skycars head-on.

 _Where the hell was Shepard?_

I cranked my neck to scan the surrounding terrain. Nothing. No evidence to indicate that Commander Shepard had ever set foot on this planet, let alone been with us at all. Panic spiked my pulse, causing the searing blood to rush to my head. I knew that the Alliance were assholes, but that wouldn't mean he'd leave us to be shish-kebabbed by Saren's giant synthetic lackey, would he? What sort of nimrod coward would immolate his crew for the sake of the mission? I bared my teeth in a silent snarl. If by some god-praising miracle I weaseled my way off this bloody planet alive I'd make it my personal duty to kick his pretty poster-boy ass into the next Galaxy.

Another blast collided with the front of the creaking crate that I was using as my cover, followed by unsettling crinkling. I lunged away just as the box exploded into millions of minute slivers, like the shattering of a glass window. I was huffing out air like I was a straining train, my back pressed against the roughness of the storage crate next to Wrex's towering hulk of a form. I peeked my head up to meet the glare of the geth colossal. Would praying it would get bored of us and move along to better sport be too much to ask?

Movement on the unfinished structure above the colossal giant caught my gaze. It was quick like a flash of lightning. I almost didn't catch it. Shepard hurled himself from the platform, latching himself onto the back of the geth like a nimble, agile feline. Like he did this as a morning warm-up to start the day out in substitute of a nice cup of coffee like every rational person did. I gaped open-mouthed like the dumbstruck moron that I was. The features of his irritatingly distracting face defined and enhanced by the orange glow of his omni-tool, adding a haunting auburn tint to his burning blue eyes. With a simple motion, he swept the blazing blade directly into the smoldering globe of the geth giant. Immediately and with the most satisfying crunch, it collapsed with its four bulky legs stuck out at odd, unnatural directions, resembling that of an arachnid.

It was like the whole universe had drastically shifted, everything aligning into place. It all made sense at that exact moment, the fascination with the esteemed Commander Shepard. Why his name was whispered in every corner of the Galaxy; whispered as if he was some omnipotent God and uttering it any louder would bring on you his supreme wrath. Why he was reviewed as humanity's golden boy. He was this newly unearthed breed, one of a kind. And as infuriatingly vexing as it was, I couldn't contradict that he was impressive.

He sauntered over to us as if taking down a mammoth colossal was a daily-routine for him. Which, knowing him, wouldn't be all that shocking. He looked to me. "You might want to close your mouth, unless you want to catch flies," he told me, a cocky-cowboy glint in his eyes before walking past me to join the others.

I snapped my trap shut with a sharp snap, my cheeks heating. Clenching my fists in tight balls, imagining them wrapped snugly around his throat, I glared death at the back of his ginormous head. _Dick prick. "_ God" my ass; you'd find a tentacle-less hanar more impressive than some arrogant Alliance brat. Once again, the world stood uneven with everything shifted at an abnormal angle, and I failed to see any appease to the asshat. Nothing impressive there, at all.

"Let's go find our Doctor."


End file.
